


Coalesce

by colieb2183



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Frottage, I put Shiro on a motorcycle, Keith is a gay disaster, M/M, Season 7 compliant, Shiro is a gay disaster, Two gay disasters on a Ducati, You're Welcome, i'm not even sorry, tropey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colieb2183/pseuds/colieb2183
Summary: Keith’s breath fans, hot and unsteady, against his lips. Shiro trembles. He struggles to hold himself still, to let Keith take the lead. Time seems to grind to a halt as their lips finally touch.AKA: These two idiots finally get together.





	Coalesce

**Author's Note:**

> This is tropey as hell and I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> So this is a plot bunny for @pejaposarambi on twitter. I hope you love it <3

Shiro can’t take his eyes off Keith. Sweat-slick skin glistens under the harsh fluorescent gym lights as he ducks and weaves effortlessly, his trainee struggling to keep up, let alone land a hit. Keith had long since stripped off his Garrison-issued workout tee and tied his long hair back into a bun. Technically, sparring shirtless is against the gym rules, but Shiro is the Admiral now, and he just can't bring himself to pass up the chance for a free show. 

Keith is a damn force of nature on the mats. Shiro shouts out guidance, but each opponent is utterly overwhelmed by his lightning fast hands, his long sweeping legs and the Garrison cadets are stumbling out of the gym in a way reminiscent of newborn giraffes after their training hour is up. Shiro passes Keith a bottle of water.

“You really put them through their paces tonight.”

Keith huffs. “They can handle it. One night of going toe to toe with the Admiral and me won’t kill ‘em.” 

Shiro fights the rising flush of heat in his cheeks. It never fails to get under his skin, hearing Keith call him “Admiral”. And watching Keith’s throat bob as he swallows --

Shiro shifts his stance, willing his thoughts elsewhere. Keith finishes the bottle of water and wipes the back of his hand across his lips. Shiro watches and licks his own lips in unconscious mimicry.

“Do you want to go to dinner with me next Saturday?” Well, the question is out there now. He can’t take it back. He really asked Keith out, finally. Shiro can feel the anxiety creeping up his spine but he forces himself to keep a cool collected front. 

Without missing a beat, Keith glances over at him with a small grin. “Sure, I’m free. Where you wanna go?”

Relief. Sweet relief floods through Shiro’s body until he's lightheaded with it, pure happiness swirling through his veins. This is actually happening. “Well I… I’ll text you. I’m not sure yet, but it’s a date.”

Keith rolls his eyes fondly. “Alright, just lemme know. I’m gonna hit the showers.” Bending over to grab his discarded shirt from the floor - he HAS to be doing that just so Shiro stares at that perfect ass of his - he heads off to the Garrison locker room with a jaunty wave.

As soon as the locker room door clicks shut, Shiro’s diving for his data pad to text Matt, 

> Shiro: I DID IT!
> 
> Matt: fucking finally

 

Matt, for all of his endless ribbing and shit-talking, recommends the cutest little hole-in-the-wall Italian place and Saturday ends with Shiro standing at Keith’s door slightly flushed and wearing what he thinks passes for dressy casual. A black leather jacket and light blue short sleeve button down and dark wash jeans is dressy enough for a date, right? Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s been on a date, it’s like he’s completely forgotten how they work. He raises his hand to knock at the door, but it opens with a  _ whoosh _ before his knuckles make contact with the metal. 

Keith looks like a damn dream. Long legs wrapped in tight black denim, begging to be unwrapped. Black leather boots. It’s not fair that he can make a simple black tee look THAT GOOD. 

“Hhh-- hi.” Shiro resists the urge to facepalm himself. Stuttering like fool. Smooth, Shirogane, real fucking smooth.

Keith smiles back, bemused, “Hi. You’re driving. Hoverbike's getting upgrades.”

“Better grab your jacket, then.” 

“Jacket? Shiro, it's 95 degrees out to--”

“Just trust me.”

Shiro could have moved off base to live in more private quarters. He tells himself that he chooses to stay on base to be closer to the team, to encourage cooperation and a sense of unity with his subordinates. But if he’s being honest with himself, moving off base would mean giving up his room next to Keith’s. And he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

He does, however, take full advantage of the large private garage that came with his promotion by filling it with shiny new toys. 

He knows Keith is expecting to see his hoverbike as the garage door lifts, and relishes when his jaw damn near hits the floor. Shiro’s Ducati Monster 1200 R is his pride and joy. He found the vintage motorcycle and painstakingly rebuilt it by hand with Matt’s help over the past few months. It’s modified to meet current safety standards and the sleek black and red paint job is pristine and shining. Keith's eyes are incandescent with excitement. 

“Sure you wanna ride on this beast with me?” Shiro teases, picking up the spare helmet and tossing it to Keith.

Snapping his jaw back up, Keith smirks back. “What? Embarrassed to show me whatcha got on the ground? You may be one of the best pilots the Garrison has ever seen, but --”

“Embarrassed?” Shiro laughs. “You better hold on tight, Kogane.” He slips his own helmet on and swings his leg over the seat. Eyebrow raised, he digs the key out of his pocket and fires the machine to life.

Keith’s long leg swings over the seat behind him and he can barely suppress the full body shiver as Keith molds himself to the broad expanse of Shiro’s back, wrapping strong arms around Shiro’s waist. Roaring out of the Garrison gate, Keith lets out a whoop of glee as Shiro opens her up, rocketing out to the desert, the engine beneath them and the wind whipping past igniting their blood.

There are only so many ‘wrong turns’ he can take before it becomes either obvious that he’s trying to prolong their ride, or that he’s just a straight up idiot. Reluctantly, he pulls up to the curb outside of Maggiano’s, steadying the bike for Keith to clamber off the back before flipping the kickstand out with his heel. Keith removes his helmet, revealing his mass of wild hair, cheeks gloriously flushed with adrenaline, eyes sparkling. Ok, so, maybe Shiro may have  _ slightly _ showed off on the empty desert roads on the way to town. 

“Shiro…holy  _ shit _ ” Keith’s smile is infectious. 

Shiro chuckles. “Let’s get food. I’m starving. Maybe I’ll let you take her out sometime.” If possible, Keith’s face lights up even brighter. “ _ Maybe. _ ”

The waitress sets them up in a back corner table covered in a white and red checkered tablecloth, a small red rose decorating the center of the table. Shiro will have to thank Matt. It’s an intimate little place, perfect for their first date. 

“So what do I gotta do to take the bike out?”

Shiro bursts into laughter. Blunt as always. When the waitress comes back to take their order, they’re deeply involved in a conversation about specs: RPM, torque, modifications. Keith wants to know everything. From there, the conversation drifts naturally to Keith’s recent art pieces, their Voltron teammates, Shiro’s promotion.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Keith settles back into his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table. “Why did you chose to stay in the Officers’ quarters? Didn’t the promotion come with an off-site allowance for an apartment?”

“Well, I like being close to the team, and commuting is a pain.” Shiro pauses. How much does he want to say? Keith is his best friend. They’ve literally been through war, through death, through resurrection. If anyone were to understand, it would be him. “And I still have nightmares sometimes. It’s helpful to wake up somewhere surrounded by people, by something familiar. Helps me come out of it faster.”

Keith nods, considering Shiro’s words. “I guess I usually have Kosmo when I wake up with nightmares. I’m sorry you wake up alone.”

Shiro shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not great, I won’t lie. I know the walls are kind of thin, too, so I apologize if I’ve ever woken you up.

Keith’s shuttered expression is all he needs to see. Yes, he has woken Keith up with his nightmares. Ok, time to switch topics. 

“Tell me about the upgrades you’re making to your hoverbike.”

The ride back to the Garrison is just as thrilling as the ride to Maggiano’s. Keith’s thighs, the cradle of his hips wrapped around Shiro. It takes a Herculian effort to remain focused on the road and not lose himself in the feeling of Keith’s body around him. Somehow he manages.

Shiro walks with Keith all the way back to his room, static electricity crackling through him. He wants to touch Keith, wants to kiss him. Steeling his nerves, he leans in -- and is wrapped into a hug instead. Oh… ok he wasn’t… Keith must not be ready for a kiss yet. 

“Thanks for dinner, Shiro. You really didn’t have to pay.” Keith steps back, unlocking his door with his handprint. 

Shiro smiles, “I asked you out, it would’ve been silly of me to expect you to pay.”

“Fine,” Keith chuckles, “next one is on me, then. See ya tomorrow.” 

”0800 bright and early.”

“Uuugh, don’t remind me,” Keith groans before stepping into his quarters and shutting the door.

Several nights later, Shiro is jolted awake by long, cool fingers caressing the sides of his overheated face. Keith? How did he get in here? The pungent zing of ozone permeates his quarters. That smells like… Kosmo? Adrenaline sets his nerves on fire, nightmares of the Arena mixing with nightmares of hurting Keith, of causing that dark swath of scar tissue marring the side of his beautiful face. He can see the scar now, visible even in the dark, and it hurts. Dear GOD does it fucking hurt. Even if it wasn’t HIM, it was his body that wielded the energy blade, that nearly tried to ki--

His thought breaks off with a half-suffocated sob. “I’m …I’m so… sorry.”

Keith pulls him close, pressing Shiro’s face to his chest. It’s so sturdy, hard-earned through years of struggle, years of fighting for his life and the lives of others… for Shiro. Shiro winds his arm around Keith’s torso, finally giving in and letting the tears fall. He’s so tired. So damn tired. 

He can hear Keith’s throat work to swallow. A slightly hitched breath. Then, blunt nails scrape gently against his scalp. Keith’s strong body holds him as he cries himself to exhaustion and drifts back to sleep. 

Morning comes blessedly free of more nightmares, and Shiro watches in awe as rays of sunshine creep across Keith’s face. Light bounces off the blackness of his sleep-mussed hair, his sharp jawline, his incredible cheekbones, the dark fan of his lashes resting against his cheeks -- all lined with gold as the sun rises in the sky.  A beautiful, fragile-looking face that hides the ferocity of the man it belongs to. Shiro’s heart flips in his chest.

They don’t talk about it, but Keith ends up sharing his bed every night after that. They talk with the lights out about their friends, about their plans until they drift off to sleep as Kosmo keeps watch. It’s chaste. But Shiro often stays up late just to watch Keith sleep. That’s not weird right? At least it shouldn’t be. And yet, Shiro often feels like such a pervert. 

He wants to touch Keith, wants to press their lips together, to kiss Keith awake, to swallow his noises until they are a part of Shiro too. But he doesn’t. He wants their first kiss to be special. Keith deserves that. And so he lies. And watches. And wants.

Gradually, morning after morning, Shiro awakens to Keith curled up into his side, sprawled across his chest, molded as a big spoon against his back. It’s thrilling, feeling the powerful lines of his body relaxed in sleep, the soft texture of his skin. Cuddling is good. Shiro can definitely do cuddling. 

So many times, he feels the swollen length of morning wood pressed into his leg or nestled between the cheeks of his ass. He struggles to not grind into it, to not rock his hips back until they’re both rutting to completion. But God, he doesn’t want to fuck this up. Keith is so shy that they haven’t even kissed yet, he doesn’t want to push. So he doesn’t. Cuddling is totally enough. He repeats it to himself after he peels himself away from Keith’s stellar octopus impression to desperately relieve his need in the shower, hand wrapped tightly around himself, quietly moaning Keith’s name into his fist. 

Their dates are amazing. It feels so right, like nothing has changed. They go to the movies, get sushi, all the trappings of romance that Shiro didn’t expect to get caught up in after Adam, but that he wants Keith to get to experience. One night when walking back to his motorcycle, Shiro gathers his courage and catches Keith’s swinging hand, lacing their fingers together. The tips of Keith’s ears go bright pink, and he refuses to meet Shiro’s eyes, but he allows it. Shiro is elated, warmth settling deep and satisfied in his chest. It’s so cute how shy Keith is being about this.    
  
On their one month anniversary they go stargazing, pulling out the telescope to look at the distant red of Mars and the rings of Saturn. Keith leans back on his hands looking up at the cloudy band of the Milky Way as it stretches from horizon to horizon in vibrant hues of gold, purple and blue. 

“The Perseid meteor shower will be in August,” Keith muses. “We should definitely plan to take off the day after so we can come out and watch.”

Shiro nods, smiling. “If you’re going to drag me out here for a night of watching meteors in the desert --”

Keith chuckles and knocks his shoulder into Shiro. “Shut up, you wanna see ‘em too. Don’t gimme that shit.”

Shiro chuckles and glances over at Keith. Nerves rattle his bones. Now. Do it NOW. Shiro leans in close and presses a soft kiss to Keith’s cheek. He smells so good, like faint remnants of aftershave, dry desert sands, sweat, and traces of engine oil. Shiro breathes in surreptitiously, pulling it deep into his lungs.

Keith turns to look at him, wide eyes unintelligible and dark, pink dusting across the tops of his cheekbones, full lips parted in surprise. His breath fans hot across Shiro’s lips. It would take only two inches and Shiro could press their lips together, could take what he so desperately wants. Keith’s eyes glance between Shiro’s eyes and his lips before blushing even deeper and turning his head back up to look at the stars above. 

Yes, this must be ok too. Shiro is delighted and pushes down his hunger for more. This is progress and he would never want to push Keith too fast. He is a patient man. He’s waited for Keith for so long he can totally go slow.

Weeks pass and on the eve of their third month together, they lie stretched out on Shiro’s sheets. Keith is filling him in on the cadet training progress, but all Shiro can focus on is the moonlight streaming through the window. Keith is always stunning, but the way the soft moonbeams illuminate the violet depths of his eyes takes Shiro’s breath away. It reminds him of staring into the endless abyss of space, constellations sparkling in the reflection along his irises. Shiro has to say something. 

“I’m so happy, Keith,” he breathes, “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

Even in the darkness, he sees something flickering deep within that swirling violet. It looks like… doubt? Shiro’s forehead crinkles in confusion.

“I’m happy too, Shiro. And I’m happy that you’re happy” Keith’s hushed voice sounds almost normal. Almost. There is a hint of something hollow, something he’s not saying.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Shiro blurts it out, unable to stop himself. He bites his lip, taking in Keith’s eyes widening in shock, the soft, sharp inhale of breath.

“Okay…” His voice is shaking. He licks his lips in a clear indication of nerves but scoots closer, collapsing the distance between their bodies.

Keith’s breath fans, hot and unsteady, against his lips. Shiro trembles. He struggles to hold himself still, to let Keith take the lead. Time seems to grind to a halt as their lips finally touch. It’s gentle. Chaste. Slightly chapped. It’s so, so good. Sliding his Altean hand across Keith’s hip and up the curve of his spine, Shiro pulls his body closer until they’re touching, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. A thrill runs through him with how small Keith is in comparison to the ingenious piece of tech.

Arching, Keith presses into him; mouth opening with the softest, most gratifying moan. Shiro’s tightly wound control snaps and he slides metal fingers up the lean lines of Keith’s back, cupping the base of his neck, anchoring them together. Hungry -- he’s so starved for this -- dipping his tongue into Keith’s mouth for a taste. Keith gasps, fisting his hands in Shiro’s shirt, curling his tongue with Shiro’s.

The sound of Keith’s voice breaking on a whimper sends a burst of heat simmering through his veins and he surges forward. Devouring. Desperate. Mapping the inside of Keith’s mouth and committing it to memory. He takes and takes. He nips on Keith’s lips, drawing them into his mouth to suck. He savors the way it feels. The way it  _ tastes _ . Keith’s body shakes in his arms. His head spins. He needs to breathe. He needs Keith more. 

Keith sobs.

Shiro freezes.

No. He thought… was this not ok? He pulls away and stares at Keith’s face. He looks so broken. So devastatingly broken. Shiro’s chest tightens like a vice. “Baby?” The pet name falls so effortlessly from his lips for the first time.

And Keith flinches, actually flinches, pulling away further. His hands stay fisted tightly against Shiro’s chest.

“What is it?” Shiro pants. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Shiro immediately goes still. Keith’s voice is filled with pain; his face painted with it. The ghosts of tears glimmer in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Shiro’s voice is soft, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. He curls his bionic hand gently around Keith’s waist, trying to pull him back in closer. Keith locks his elbows, not allowing for any movement. A lump rises in Shiro’s throat. What did he do wrong? He doesn’t understand. “Keith…”

“Shiro…”

Shiro holds his breath.

“... I can’t do this.”

His fingertips feel numb. A hollow cold emptiness grips at the very core of his being. How could he have fucked this up? No. He checked. He did. It was going so well. How did he ruin everything?

“I ruined everything.”

“No -- I--” Shiro tries to take the blame away from Keith. But what did he do? He doesn’t know. And then Keith is finally looking up, into his eyes and Shiro’s heart cracks with the pain he sees swimming in that fathomless gaze. And he still doesn’t know what he did. “I’m sorry.” There’s no way such a simple apology could ever begin to atone for hurting the beautiful man in front of him, but it’s all that he has to offer. His hand hovers up until he’s cupping the side of Keith’s face, delicate cheekbones dwarfed under the metal fingers. “How can I fix this?”

“I fucked up.” Keith shakes his head, body trembling. “I thought I could do this -- thing -- with you. 

Fear becomes something tangible, something real, sinking heavy and deep into the pit of his stomach. Did he misread everything? Did Keith put up with all of his advances -- the dates, the hand-holding… the first time he kissed his cheek -- and didn’t want any of it. There’s no way. Shiro heard that small sharp inhale every time their skin touched in passing. He saw the way Keith’s pupils dilated, that otherworldly purple swallowed by fathomless black, every time Shiro was brave enough to brush his lips against Keith’s cheek.

Keith continues, “You know I’d do anything for you -- but --”

“Oh God.” The small crack spiderwebs; his heart barely held together by razor sharp edges.

“--this. This I can’t do.”

It’s as if the Earth has dropped out from beneath him. Nausea curls sickeningly through his stomach, akin to the bone-deep existential terror of free fall.. Shiro sits up in bed, chest heaving unsteadily. “Keith…”

Keith sits up too. The Leader of Voltron. The strong capable shoulders of the man who carried the weight of the Earth crumple inwards. He looks so small. His eyes focus resolutely on the rumpled sheets between them as a tear slowly winds its way down a cheek tanned by innumerable hoverbike races in the desert. 

Oh god. He needs to fix this. How could he have hurt Keith so badly and not known it? If Keith doesn’t want him then...he has to know.

Shiro reaches out and tips Keith’s chin up until their eyes meet, swallowing hard as the skin of his thumb slides along Keith’s sharp jawline. Tears overflow and stream down that handsome face. It’s almost too much to bear. Shiro fights the urge to run out of the room with the shattered remains of his heart, but…. he has to fix this. Or at least try.

“Why?” he asks. His own voice comes out choked by the sobs that threaten to claw their way up his throat.

“Because I love you.”

In one sentence, Shiro goes from broken-hearted to bewildered. What? That doesn’t make any sense. But, if Keith loves him, then he read all the signs right. Right? Disoriented from emotional whiplash, he manages to ask, “What?”

Keith sighs, removing Shiro’s hand from his face and holding it between shaking palms. Even his human hand dwarfs Keith’s long elegant fingers. “I’m in love with you,” he whispers, “I can’t play pretend like this.”

“Play pretend?” Shiro frowns.

“I can’t just pretend I’m not in love with you. I know you’ve been so touch starved after being in the black lion for so long, and I know I overstepped by having Kosmo teleport me into your room that first night, and I want to help you, I do. But...” Keith's not even trying to stop the tears as they flow, illuminated by moonlight and the ethereal Altean blue of Shiro’s prosthetic. “But when you touch me like that and are so sweet to me I fall harder and… I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

What? Shiro tilts his head in confusion. None of this makes any sense. “I don’t want you to pretend anything. I love you.”

Keith blinks once. Twice. “Wh--What?”

“I love you. I’m your boyfriend, and I know we haven’t… sai…” Shiro trails off. Keith looks like someone has slapped him right across the face. Shiro nervously clears his throat, “I thought I was your boyfriend…”

“You’re my what?” He leans forward into Shiro’s space, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What are you talking about?”

“Three months ago! I asked you out for dinner, and you said yes, and I said… it’s… it’s a date.”

Silence. 

Oh-- _ OH _ . 

“Keith did yo--”

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts, “I thought you were just saying that as like a common phrase or something. You meant an actual  _ date?!” _

“.... yes?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

Keith gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing, but nothing comes out. 

“Keith,” Shiro ventures timidly, “Do you want to date me? Because I reall--” 

Keith launches himself at Shiro, pushing him flat to the mattress and straddling his lap.

“You mean to tell me,” he snarls, “That I’ve been holding back, been pulling away from your touch for  _ months _ and I  _ didn’t have to _ ?” His skin glows in the moonlight, eyes wide and luminous.

Shiro looks up into his face, chest heaving, “ _ God, _ you’re beautiful.”

Keith’s hands dig into Shiro’s hair, crashing their lips together. Any conception of Keith being shy immediately flies out the window. This kiss is nothing but heat, molten desire sliding across their bones, searing into their very souls. Keith kisses like he flies, wild and instinctual. He ruts his hips down, and Shiro gasps. This is so much, it’s been so long.

Blinding pressure builds within him and he wraps both hands around those slim hips, his bionic hand nearly engulfing half of Keith’s frame. Keith swallows Shiro’s groan, echoing it back moments later when Shiro grinds into him. Hard lengths slide together, unbearably hot despite double layers of fabric separating them. 

Shiro’s head tips back, noises of desire and a broken litany of _Keith_ _so good please don’t stop I’m so close_ falling from his lips. Keith mouths down the exposed column of his throat, open sloppy desperate kisses.

With each grind, pleasure coalesces deep within Shiro until it explodes, shooting electricity across his nerve endings. He grips Keith’s hips tightly, feeling his muscles work until Keith follows him over the edge, stilling with a deep groan and Shiro can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes. Next time he wants to feel it in his throat.

Panting, they both slowly come back to Earth. Shiro hasn’t come in his pants like that since he was a cadet. It’s slightly embarrassing, but with one look at Keith’s wrecked expression, he would willingly do nothing else for the rest of his life as long as he got to see Keith look like THAT.

Sliding his left hand under Keith’s chin, he angles his face down to press their lips together once, twice, before tracing the sharp line of Keith’s jaw. “I love you,” he whispers. It feels so fucking good to finally say it.

Keith smiles, “I love you, too.” 

All the tiny fissures in Shiro’s heart mend, fused by the heat and love pouring off of Keith’s face. Mine. He’s all mine.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, as always to my amazing beta [Nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious) and to [CodeBlue321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodeBlue321) for cheering me along. And thank you to [Inky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky) for giving me some great feedback when I was stuck! Love you all <3


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